


Family Values

by penombrelilas (crookedspoon)



Series: Days Gone By [32]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Blogging, Community: 31_days, Family, Gen, Hanami, M/M, Relationship(s), Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-03
Updated: 2009-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/penombrelilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be it family or friends, Hikaru just doesn't get relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Values

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt from Oct 3rd "There are no strangers under cherry blossoms" at 31_days

To pass the time and ignore boredom as much as possible, Hikaru typed the following:

 _Family trips, boredom and rugrats - three things I'd rather live without, but alas! three things I've been exposed to all morning. I think it's about enough. Can I go home now? (Unfortunately the answer is still no, we haven't done everything we came here for...)_

_I know you cannot always choose what to live with or without. Boredom, for one, is a constant: it comes and goes as it pleases, like the wind - that constant companion that surrounds you when you step outside and that drops by for a visit whenever you open the interfaces to your home._

_Rugrats on the other hand are an inconvenience you can avoid most of the time, unless theys are shoved in your face, like leaflets you're not interested in. You try your best to ignore the person handing them out, try to go unnoticed, invisible. It's a moral quandary: you don't want to be rude and walk past without accepting it, but when you accept it you want to crumple it as soon as the flyer brushes your skin and relish the sound of rippling paper laughter._

_And family trips are the worst kind of unwanted. You cannot just walk past, you cannot just ignore; it's a whole other kind of moral dilemma, the duty you have to your parents. I think every once in a while guilt creeps into their system, like poison or the slow understanding of the way of the world, and they get it into their heads to do something fun with their children to make up for the long hours, day after day, they failed to pay attention to them._

_In my opinion, they only do that when important threads in their lives wear or rip; they feel the need to salvage something in their close environment for compensation – so why not family? After all, there are appearances to keep up._

_So they pack you into the car and drive, the farther, the better. They're running, but they don't want to it alone; they need the company. Of course, you have to act as if you enjoy it, have been looking forward to doing something with your family, to keep up the pretense of normalcy, because it's_ family.

_If you don't, you're the problem child. They're sacrificing their time for you, isn't that what you wanted, haven't you been complaining they're never there for you, so why can't you be happy that now they are?_

_To be honest, I can't make sense out of this relationship crap. It's either chaotic or adhering to strict social rules, but phony all the same: you only stick together as long as there are advantages._

_Personally, if there's chaos, I don't want to do anything with it. If there's formality and order, even less. It reveals this inner conflict. Part of me is too proud to bend to preformed rules, but another chokes on this inherent respect for tradition, not wanting to derange what's been done decades, centuries, millennia before. I need something more disturbed, where I don't feel I displace whatever I touch._

Fingers coming to a halt, Hikaru looked over what he had written. And deleted the entire last paragraph. No, that was boring, and too personal besides. No one needed to know that he had a different side to his rebellious appearance and behavior.

The cursor was blinking merrily away, but Hikaru would not let it mock him. He would stop here, maybe add to it later, maybe forget he ever wrote it, or maybe blog it when he was back to civilization.

Really, he couldn't understand how his brother could live without internet connection, without hotspots, without stereo equipment. Hikaru would wither, as simple as that. He had always had an inkling that he couldn't be related with the person everyone called his brother. They were too fundamentally different.

The door was opened and, with what sounded like a kind of too-happy war cry, a stinky brat waddled in, more or less straight toward Hikaru's legs. It bumped against them once, before clamping its outstretched arms around his shanks. His nephew reminded Hikaru of an energetic version of a Slowpoke.

"Are you still not done yet? We want to go."

Just then, he noticed that his mother was standing in the doorway, picknick basket in hand and frowning in disapproval at the laptop Hikaru was closing. She could tell with one glance that she was suspicious of "all that newfangled knickknack."

He wanted to answer that they could have just gone ahead, left him here, he could have entertained himself much better on his own, so long and have fun.

Instead, he picked up his nephew and followed his mother, like the dutiful son she wanted him to be - like his brother. She would have lectured him about his unsocial behavior and that she was going to throw away that laptop of his if he wasn't going to change it. Parents always think they can keep their children in line with threats.

Downstairs, his brother and sister-in-law were waiting, holding open the door for them to go through like a herd of geese, following the _clop-clop_ of his mother's wooden sandals against stone.

The spring air was heavy with the smell of cherry blossoms. Hikaru felt like he had some stuffed up his nose. If he were allergic, he would fall over dead, respiratory tracts swollen like a leech and then he wouldn't have to go picknicking, because he wouldn't be able to go anywhere anymore.

"Let me take this, Mother." Satoru offered, already placing his hands on the basket. Although this gesture made a determined impression, he would have let go if their mother wanted it that way. He would have tried to reason her into handing over the basket, if anything. Unlike Hikaru, he could take 'no' for an answer.

"There's no need to be so glum on such a nice day, Hikaru." Until his mother's words prodded at his absent mind, he hadn't noticed he was scowling. Well, he wasn't; it was just that his mother could not distinguish the moods behind his faces. Most of them looked the same, or so he'd been told, but they felt different.

And besides, Hikaru thought, what connection to my mood does the weather have anyway? Why do I have to look like I'm enjoying myself when the weather is nice? That doesn't make any sense.

The park seemed like beacon in the distance that grew broader and broader as they approached, more pink than green, with petals flying everywhere, tiny shreds of girls' dresses, confetti the color of washed-out blood.

Under the pink umbrellas you were able to distinguish the shapes of families that had the same creative idea to go cherry blossom viewing. They were swarming like bees in a hive, scattered in clusters around the trees.

Soon, they found a place to spread their blanket, in between groups of business men and women, identifiable because of their stern looks and starched dress shirt, white and crisp as the spring air.

Hikaru sat down on the blanket and let his nephew sink onto his lap. His arms had started protesting a while ago; Hideki was heavier than he looked. The little one apparently had enough of his uncle. He slipped onto his hands and knees and rushed off to inspect the basket, something he had wanted to do for some time, having stretched his chubby hands towards it when they weren't tugging at Hikaru's hair.

Now they grabbed the sides of the basket, trying to pull him up. He wanted to know what was inside. The basket tipped over under the weight, the bentos his mother hadn't taken out clattered to the ground, one opening and spilling its contents. Shocked, Hideki began to cry.

"Hikaru, can you not look after your nephew? Now look at what he's done! Can I never once rely on you?"

"Why do you blame me now? Is that my kid? Did I do this?"

"You could have paid more attention! Now we're a lunchbox short."

"Just as well. I'm not hungry."

"Calm down, Mother. It's not his fault," Satoru cut in, mediating as usual. He was correct like that, always smoothing down the turbulances in this family.

"I think I'm going for a walk." With that, Hikaru got up and left, before anyone told him to stay. He wouldn't have, but he wasn't out for more friction. With his brother present, there was enough to grind a stone to dust without Hikaru needing to open his mouth.

His brother always had been the favorite son. No one needed to say it out loud, it was clear from the way his parents behaved around him. He was successful in everything he did, had a beautiful family and a promising future ahead of him. They were proud - from the moment he was born he had been everything they ever wished for in a child.

Hikaru had come as an afterthought, unplanned and most likely unwanted, too. Not that he cared much. He liked it the way it was. His parents left him alone most of the time and didn't check up on him every two hours, the way they did with his brother, when he had still lived at home.

Home was where he wanted to be now, mixing some songs or checking his social networks. Crowded though the internet was, it never gave him the stifling feeling of being watched the way his current surroundings did. You could just choose to be invisible to the people he did not want to talk to.

But invisibility was boring; Hikaru liked being noticed, being looked up to.

"Hikaru?" a familiar voice suddenly called behind him.

He threw a glance over his shoulder, casual enough to go unnoticed. He didn't know anyone in the area, so he must have mistaken the voice with someone else's. But whom did he see?

"Shiraishi? What are you doing here?" Frankly, Hikaru was more than a little bewildered. In front of him stood his former tennis team captain, dressed in a blue yukata for the occasion, with another person in his arm, his girlfriend perhaps.

"Hello, Hikaru-kun. It's good to see you again," the person greeted, in a tone that carried a faint vibration of distaste, as though she was irritated at not being recognized.

"And who is that charming--" then it clicked, "Rikkai's Captain?!" He was still thinking in terms of rival schools, but more importantly: what was Shiraishi doing with _him_? Gods, he looked so much like a girl with his hair done up. Hikaru's cheeks heated in embarrassment.

Shiraishi chuckled as Yukimura sniffed. "Yeah, now you got it. We're here for the hanami, as just about everyone."

"Yeah, I guessed as much." Hikaru rolled his eyes. He should learn to phrase his questions clearer to get the answers he wanted. "But why _here_ of all places? It's like the middle of nowhere."

"Why not? But if you must know, Seiichi's family moved here last winter."

"That still doesn't explain why you are here."

"Nosey, aren't we?" Shiraishi grinned at him like a Cheshire cat. It was scary. Then he turned that grin to Yukimura and leaned closer to him. "What do you think?" Hikaru's eyes bulged as their lips met. It was like a train wreck: he couldn't take his eyes away.

His brain was running hot doing mental arithmetics, trying to find another logical answer. Shiraishi could not possibly be together with the former captain of Rikkai. That was too much to stomach, too much information he did not need to know.

"Speaking of family... I think I had better head back now. They're probably waiting for me by now. Shiraishi, Yukimura, it was nice meeting you again. Let's talk some other time. Have a nice day." He was babbling, but he didn't care. His urge to flee was stronger.

There was a bubble of laughter behind his back and what he thought to recognize as a friendly slap. He did not want to know what exactly it was and where exactly the hand went. He'd like very much for the pictures to leave his head.

How could they? And in public, too! He shook his head and doubled his speed, needing to get away fast.

Really, he would never make sense of relationships. And yet, he wondered whether just now was wirth a blog post.


End file.
